By Each Blade
by Clarenova
Summary: Sabretache - an intriguing figure that hovers between borders. An insight into the captain that holds the blade.


::Growing Up:: 

Disclaimer: What is Jacques's is his, what is mine is mine. 

A/N: Hares in my AU do not use their slang because firstly, I would die writing it, secondly, the fic would die if I wrote it and thirdly, there is reason for it, as can be gathered from most of my other writings on the more serious side of the Long Patrol, ie Set Me Free, and more importantly (and clearly) The Mindlessness of Intuition. 

* 

He had been warned that it would not be an easy existence, but at that point in time, Sabretache could not have cared. In truth, anybeast in his position would not have cared, either. When one was eleven, and when one's parents were cold and dead, one tended not to care. Sabretache was a serious creature, and he had good reason to. But he was young, and things change over time. Time - yes, 'Tache had a lot of time. 

It was not the fact that he was alone in the world that bothered the leveret, in contrast, that was the last thing he worried about. This was the Long Patrol - death and murder were events that they were only all to well acquainted with. Rather, it was the life before him that worried 'Tache. He was considered, by most of the elders and officers on the mountain, to be one of the more serious hares that had come about. Even for all his few seasons, there was a talent and passion in Sabretache, his moods, his emotions, his control, that made him perfect. 

The facts of life had long been declared by those before them, and in all probability and hope would be equally as clear to those that would come after them. Badger rulers were always fair, fair but fixed in their judgement. Word had long been passed from hare to hare - to serve the badger lord, to uphold your own sense of duty. To fight, to be fearless, to be the coming of justice. It took more than a little courage to be able to face that sort of life, but it was a life where they were not given _choice_. You either excelled at it, or you did not. Those that failed the trails took on other professions; healers, cooks, runners, scouts. Many more just stayed back as wives and husbands, unwilling to sacrifice their relationship for the road and the war. There were never any relationships on patrol, anyhow, beyond that of the rare but possible brother-sister, sister-sister or brother-brother combination. 

So it was that being an officer in the Long Patrol was one of the hardest things. It took more than just skill with paw and mind, it took a measure of finesse in controlling emotion, a measure of aloof jurisdiction. That, 'Tache excelled in. Since he had been born, since all his friends and teachers had been able to interact with him, Sabretache had been the ultimate pupil of concentration and discipline. It was as if he had been born, beyond the duty that they were all obliged to, to serve. 

So they had warned 'Tache, in their own subtle manner, like all other things that hares did, on the trials that would be placed in front of him. But Sabretache did not care. Not caring - something Sabretache did not do often, but so it was. But on the path of being trained for the highest position possible on Salamandastron - colonel - 'Tache knew he ought to. But for that one moment, his face fixed in a determined expression, a young Sabretache did not care. 

* 

Sabretache lounged on one of the many balconies of Salamandastron, calmly sipping on a glass of cordial. The dusky atmosphere of the sea called to him, so the hare decided to sit for a quiet moment, alone with the world. It was not uncommon for him; it was the way he was. Laconic, saturnine 'Tache, they called him, and with no small measure of pride, he thought, a wry smile playing on his lips as took another small sip of his drink. Sabretache was an effectively borderline creature, and not in terms of madness. He toed the line between quiet and cold, the barrier between friendly and hostile. There was a charisma about him, an odd manner of _control. _A mentality fit for leadership and a warmth about him that made others listen. But yet there was a reserved quality to him, a part of him that nobeast could hope to ever reach or understand. For a long while, Sabretache just sat watching the sun dip further down, until it had disappeared completely and the mountain had begun to flicker with the light of many torches. 

''Tache...? Is that you?' 

Sabretache tilted his head backwards at the sound of someone calling his name, a brow arched as he rose from his perch. He knew he looked a mess, his fur ruffled by the wind and his tunic unbuttoned at the collar. No few seasons had passed since he had come under the mentorship of Sandgall, and he was used to the colonel seeking him out at odd times of the day, and the reaction he had towards sloppiness. Stretching with almost feline grace, he tall hare turned to face the older officer, simultaneously tugging his shirt back in place. 

'Yes, sah...?' 

Sandgall popped his head around the corner and met his protégé's innocent gaze. The monocle hung unworn about his shoulders, and it swung about as the older hare pulled himself onto the balcony and sighed at the state of the younger hare. 

'What on Mossflower are you doing out here at this hour? I can barely see in this light!' 

Sabretache shrugged expressively, a smirk on his features as he gently walked with the colonel back into the mountain's interior. 

'Just sitting about,' he answered most eloquently. Sandgall rolled his eyes at the absurdity of his pupil and sighed. Sometimes even he could not understand the moods that Sabretache created for himself. It was like trying to understand the ebbing of the tide, seemingly utterly random but at the same time, an odd pattern. The vague attitude was best left alone, though, so he quickly changed the subject. 

'Never mind, then. Come along, there are matters we need to attend to,' he muttered, fixing the monocle back on. Sabretache smiled indulgently behind him in the darkness, calmly taking another sip from the drink and readjusting his collar properly. Sandgall pretended not to notice, quietly filling Sabretache in on the various calamities, so to speak, that the mountain now faced. 

'We need a badger around here,' he commented dryly. Sandgall rolled his eyes and continued walking. They were about to ascend up to the offices when a young leveret came pelting down the corridor, headed straight for Sabretache. The captain raised an eyebrow in amusement, catching the hare by the arm and stabilizing him. 

'Bloggwood,' he identified the playful leveret and sighed. 'What have you been doing now?' 

The twinkle in the mischievous hare's eye did not fade as he bobbed a quick bow to his superior officers. 

'Who, me? Nothing much, sirrah!' 

Sabretache allowed a quirk of his lips for a fleeting instant before steering Bloggwood down the staircase and back towards the dormitories. 

'You are incorrigible, did you know that?' 

A flash of remembrance danced across his eyes as he recalled times when he, too, had been like Bloggwood, just slightly less... exuberant. Needless to say, 'Tache was not convinced that Bloggwood's attitude towards life would last very much longer. He had seen it happen, time and time again, and experienced it himself. Ignorance was a deadly foe, and one that Sabretache was not content to fall to. Bidding the younger hare good eve, he quickly caught up with Sandgall, thinking quietly of his own purpose. 

* 

'Duck!' the colonel commanded as he threw a weight at Sabretache. The swordhare easily avoided the missile object, ducking and weaving while still battering consistently at the flashing blade of one of his tutors. His face completely devoid of emotion, Sabretache stepped back, back, front, side with a lithe grace honed through years of practice, avoiding each hiss of metal and returning with a good few parries of his own. There was absolute concentration in his action, in each calculation move. Sandgall threw another "missile" at him, and the captain ducked instinctively, scurrying away. The missile made contact with the opposing hare instead, effectively ending their sparring. Laughing, Juvient, the other hare, tossed the bag back at the colonel in good natured humour before sheathing his blade. 

'You are doing well, 'Tache, but work on the fluidity of your actions. You are too... tense.' 

Sabretache sighed as he toyed with one of his daggers, tossing it up and down with almost negligent action. His heart just was not in his practice that day, no matter what concentration he put in. Sandgall dismissed Juvient with a wave of his paw, drumming his fingers on a table in the practice room and looking expectantly at the younger hare. Sabretache did not deign to look up. 

'What was that?' 

Sabretache shrugged. 

'My thoughts wander this day.' 

Sandgall sighed. 

''Tache...' 

The younger hare got up and, without a word, exited the room. 


End file.
